


a story of boy meets boy

by nightswatch



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-01
Updated: 2014-08-01
Packaged: 2018-02-11 08:18:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,585
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2060790
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nightswatch/pseuds/nightswatch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>for this prompt I got for Courferre week: "Courf being a journalist who wants to make an interview with a new actor (Ferre) who's pretty sure going to be /the/ new Shakespeare actor and who just played Faust in an celebrated indie production and well he's so interesting it has to be a three part interview and oh no wait dinner no wait it's love"</p>
            </blockquote>





	a story of boy meets boy

“Courf, do you want to have lunch in a bit?”

Courfeyrac turned around to find Enjolras standing right behind him, looking a little less stressed than he had the day before. Apparently his report on the upcoming elections was coming along well then. “I can’t,” Courfeyrac said with an apologetic smile.

“Another lunch date with some famous person I’ve never heard of?” Enjolras asked, raising his eyebrows. “I’m definitely working for the wrong department.”

Courfeyrac snorted. “You could just do lunch interviews with politicians.”

“I’d rather not, I might be tempted to throw my food at them if I end up disagreeing with them,” Enjolras said dryly and marched off back to his own desk.

Courfeyrac laughed and grabbed his bag. He needed to get going, otherwise he’d be late. As Enjolras had guessed, he was going to interview an actor, Nicolas Combeferre, who’d just finished a brilliant run as Faust and was now on everyone’s most-wanted list.

Frankly, Courfeyrac barely knew a thing about him. It was actually his colleague who’d set up the interview, but he’d had to leave town because of a family emergency, so it was Courfeyrac’s task now. He wished he could have done a little more research, but the little information he’d found thanks to his good friend Google would have to do for now. He was meeting the guy to ask him questions after all.

It took Courfeyrac a while to find the little café they were supposed to meet in, so he ended up stumbling inside ten minutes late, and spotted him at the back of the café, even more handsome in real life than on the pictures that Courfeyrac had found on the internet.

Courfeyrac approached his table quickly, nearly falling over a chair on his way. “I’m so sorry I’m late,” he said as he sat down. “I’m Courfeyrac, Mr. Laurent’s colleague. He couldn’t make it, so I’ll be doing the interview with you. It’s very nice to meet you Mr. Combeferre,” he said, holding out his hand.

“Just Combeferre, please. That’s what everyone calls me,” Combeferre said, smiling, and shook his hand.

Courfeyrac smiled back at him, trying not to get completely lost in beautiful eyes. It wasn’t easy, to say the least. He ordered a cup of coffee and a piece of cake, Combeferre ordered a sandwich, then Courfeyrac got out his dictaphone.  “Right, shall we start?”

“Whenever you’re ready,” Combeferre said and rolled up the sleeves of his shirt as he leaned back in his seat, revealing colorful tattoo sleeves. Courfeyrac hadn’t seen those on the internet either.

“Those are nice tattoos,” Courfeyrac choked out, barely noticing when their waitress put down their orders on the table.

“One of my friends is a tattoo artist,” Combeferre told him. “He’s very talented.”

“Oh, that’s… nice.” He cleared his throat and looked down at his very sparse notes. “So, you just finished Faust and ever since everyone’s been all over you, how does that feel?”

“Flattering,” Combeferre said, still smiling. “A little scary at times.”

“Why scary?” Courfeyrac asked.

“I’ve been in this business for a few years now and I’ve been part of a great number of fantastic productions, but those didn’t get as much attention as the latest one I was in did. All of a sudden people want to buy me lunch and talk me into auditioning for them. It does have its advantages, of course, but I’m not really used to it just yet.”

“Yeah, I believe that might take a while,” Courfeyrac said, nodding. “What was your favorite thing about doing Faust?”

Combeferre thought about it for a second and took a bite of his sandwich. “It was a very modern production, very controversial. It was different, which was actually why I wanted to be part of it so much. The cast and the whole team were amazing, I’d work with each and every one again in a heartbeat.”

“And what’s next for you?” Courfeyrac asked. He wasn’t just asking because he had to, he was genuinely interested now.

“I’ll be part of a Comedy Night two weeks from now. To be honest with you, I don’t think I’m particularly funny, but it’s for charity, so I couldn’t say no.”

Courfeyrac was pretty sure that he was making incredibly obvious heart-eyes at Combeferre right about now, but he couldn’t really bring himself to care. “That sounds wonderful.”

Combeferre smiled at him and Courfeyrac decided to let him eat some more of his food before he asked any further questions, which also gave him time to stare at Combeferre a little more. He had beautiful hands, and a beautiful face and he was such a pleasant person, so considerate, so incredibly lovely. Courfeyrac bit his lip in an attempt to stop his silent gushing.

“Rumor has it that you’re going to be in a Shakespeare production later this year,” Courfeyrac said once Combeferre had finished his sandwich. “Can you tell me anything about that?”

“I’m afraid I can’t say anything about that,” Combeferre said, smiling again.

“That’s too bad,” Courfeyrac said. “Well, since we can’t talk about the future, maybe you should tell me about the first play you were in?”

Combeferre laughed. “Oh, that was a long time ago,” he said. “I was in a nativity play when I was five.”

“And what role did you play?”

“I was an angel.”

“I bet you were,” Courfeyrac said before he could stop himself. He blushed furiously, but luckily Combeferre only laughed. “So, was that what got you into theatre to begin with?” he asked quickly.

“No, not really,” Combeferre said. “Apparently I’ve always liked acting, if I can trust my relatives on that, but it wasn’t until I was a teenager that I figured out that I wanted to do it for a living. I joined my school’s drama group and it all just fell into place for me.”

Courfeyrac knew that he should be wrapping up soon, it was only supposed to be a short interview after all and he’d asked more than enough questions for that. He’d been left pretty clear instructions – ask about Faust, ask about what he was going to do next, ask how he’d first got into acting. Pretty basic stuff. It was just that Courfeyrac really didn’t want to leave yet. He wanted to ask Combeferre more questions, he wanted to ask him _everything_.

“Do you have any advice for young actors?” Courfeyrac asked. “Not that you’re not a young actor, obviously you are, I just meant actors who are still at the beginning of their career.”

Combeferre laughed again. If he did it one more time, Courfeyrac would probably die because his heart couldn’t take it. “Well, it’s hard in the beginning. Not everyone is lucky enough to be cast for a big role right away, and it’s very important not to be disheartened by that. It doesn’t mean that you’re a bad actor. Sometimes these things take time, I only played small roles until I was cast in Faust, but I’ve always loved what I did, so I never gave up. I know that I was very lucky so far, my work has never really felt like work at all.”

“Very lucky indeed,” Courfeyrac mumbled. He definitely needed to let Combeferre go now, he probably didn’t have time to sit around here with him all afternoon. “Well, I’m not going to keep you any longer, thank you so much for your time.”

“Oh, I have to thank you,” Combeferre said.

Courfeyrac stuffed all of his belongings back into his bag, wondering if it was unorthodox to just ask Combeferre for his number, even though this was basically a business meeting. They had a nice chat about the weather while Courfeyrac took care of the bill and walked out of the café together, Combeferre telling him about an acting workshop he was going to lead in a couple of weeks.

“Maybe I should sign up for that, I actually thought about becoming an actor for a while,” Courfeyrac said jokingly.

“Oh, really?” Combeferre asked. “Why didn’t you?”

“Because I was horrible,” Courfeyrac replied. “Worst actor on the planet, honestly.”

“I’m sure you weren’t that bad,” Combeferre said. “Well, that’s my bus right there, I should probably make a run for it.”

“Yeah, of course. And thanks again.”

“You’re very welcome. Feel free to let me know if you have another questions.”

Courfeyrac only nodded, watching as Combeferre quickly ran off towards the bus stop, wondering if he should have asked for his number after all.

Two days later Courfeyrac called Combeferre’s agent, telling him that he had some more questions, and was promised that Combeferre would contact him as soon as he could. Courfeyrac’s phone rang less than an hour later.

“Yeah?”

“Hello, this is Combeferre. I was hoping you’d call again.”

“You were?” Courfeyrac asked, biting down a dreamy sigh.

“Yes,” Combeferre said, and Courfeyrac could tell that he was smiling. “How can I help you?”

“Well, my editor thought that it would be nice to sort of an extended interview for our online edition.” Actually Courfeyrac had talked his editor into doing an extended interview for the online edition, but Combeferre didn’t need to know that. “If you’re up for that. You know, it’d be more about you as a person. Nothing too personal, just about your hobbies, and who inspires you and stuff like that.”

“Oh, absolutely,” Combeferre said. “When would you like to do the interview?”

“Whatever works best for you is fine with me,” Courfeyrac said.

“Well, I have rehearsals starting on Monday, but I’m free all weekend if that isn’t too inconvenient for you.”

“Sure, maybe we could have dinner?”

“Dinner,” Combeferre echoed. “Yes, that would work for me. How about tonight?”

“Tonight would be great, yes. Do you know the Café Musain? They have an excellent chef, we could have dinner there.”

“Perfect, I’ll see you later.”

“Yes, see you later.”

Courfeyrac spent the rest of the day being ridiculously excited for his dinner date with Combeferre, even though it technically wasn’t a real date, only a business date, but still.

Combeferre still looked just as handsome that evening as he had the last time Courfeyrac had seen him. He didn’t even have to ask questions this time, they were just talking, about their favorite restaurants, their favorite movies, their friends, a little about Courfeyrac’s job, a little about Combeferre’s time at drama school.

Time went by much too quickly, they shook hands as they said goodbye, and once again Courfeyrac came to regret not asking Combeferre for his number. Well, technically he already had his number, technically Courfeyrac could call him anytime he wanted, but that wasn’t the same thing.

He wrote his article for the online edition over the weekend, it was published on Monday, and on Tuesday morning an email from Combeferre was waiting for him in his inbox. For a couple of seconds, before he opened it, he was really scared that he’d somehow managed to fuck it up, but as it turned out he’d had absolutely no reason to be worried.

_Courfeyrac,_

_I very much enjoyed reading both your articles. I told my manager to put you on the guest list for Saturday night, feel free to bring a friend._

_Hopefully I’ll see you there,_

_Combeferre_

Courfeyrac might have let out an excited squeal at that. He rushed over to Enjolras, told him they had plans for Saturday and then returned to his own desk and got zero work done all day.

The Comedy Night proved what Courfeyrac had known all along – Combeferre was hilarious. Sometimes unintentionally so, but still. Afterwards Courfeyrac dragged Enjolras back to the stage door, waiting patiently for Combeferre to appear.

“Look, there he is,” Courfeyrac said with a sigh when Combeferre stepped outside.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to leave you alone with your future husband?” Enjolras grumbled.

“Don’t call him that,” Courfeyrac whispered and elbowed him in the ribs.

Enjolras rolled his eyes. “We both know that that’s what you want him to be.”

“Yeah, but he doesn’t know that yet,” Courfeyrac hissed.

Combeferre slowly made his way towards them, signing programs and taking pictures with what felt like hundreds of people.

“You’re here,” Combeferre said once he’d made it over to them. “Hi,” he added, shaking Enjolras’ hand with a smile. “And you are?”

“This is Enjolras,” Courfeyrac said.

“We’re colleagues,” Enjolras added quickly.

Courfeyrac wasn’t sure if he was just seeing what he wanted to see, but Combeferre almost looked relieved for a second.

“We really enjoyed the show,” Enjolras told him.

“Yeah, you were…” Courfeyrac paused, grinning up at Combeferre for a couple of seconds. “Funny,” he finished lamely.

Combeferre grinned. “Thank you.” He looked around and waved at one of the other actors who’d been in the show. “I’m glad you came.”

“Me too,” Courfeyrac whispered.

“I have to go soon, but maybe we can…” Combeferre trailed off, biting his lip.

“We can talk about the show,” Courfeyrac said.

“Of course,” Combeferre said. “For the paper.”

Courfeyrac nodded, thanked him for the tickets one more time, and then Combeferre was off.

“Really? For the paper?” Enjolras asked.

“Yes, for the paper,” Courfeyrac muttered. “I told Valjean I’d write a review, he thought it was a nice idea. He likes charity stuff, you know that.”

Enjolras snorted. “You’re hopeless.”

“Says the guy who still hasn’t talked to the hot dude with the tattoos who always has lunch at the Musain when we have lunch there,” Courfeyrac said. Enjolras had had a crush for that guy for ages, although he’d probably never admit it, and still hadn’t managed to say a single word to him. At least Courfeyrac wasn’t _that_ hopeless.

“That’s different,” Enjolras mumbled.

They were bickering all the way to the bus stop, but Enjolras did have a point. Courfeyrac couldn’t just keep asking Combeferre for interviews whenever he wanted to see him.

He did write the review, invited Combeferre for another interview, but then he had to move on to other things. He followed Combeferre on Twitter, but that didn’t distract him from how much he actually wanted to call him in the slightest.

After Enjolras had told him that he actually had Combeferre’s number and could just call him for the tenth time, Courfeyrac eventually gave in.

They were at the Musain during their lunch break and Enjolras was busy staring at the dark-haired guy with the tattoos, which gave Courfeyrac way too much time to stare at the call button next to Combeferre’s name.

“I’ll be right back,” he said to Enjolras, who wasn’t paying attention to him at all and walked outside, dialing Combeferre’s number before he could change his mind.

Combeferre picked up almost instantly. “Courfeyrac?”

“Yes, hello, it’s me,” Courfeyrac said, wondering if he could sound any more awkward. “How are you?”

“Good, I’m about to grab lunch, actually. How about you?”

“I’m good, too,” Courfeyrac said. “I’ve already had lunch, but I haven’t had dinner. Maybe we could have dinner. You and I together.” He swallowed hard. “And not for the paper,” he added, just to make that clear, “you know, as a… date. I’m asking you out on a date.”

“That would be lovely,” Combeferre said and Courfeyrac let out a sigh of relief. “I’ll see you tonight, then? There’s a new Chinese restaurant I’ve meant to try for ages. I’ll text you the address.”

Courfeyrac grinned. “Great, see you tonight."

**Author's Note:**

> Here's my [writing blog](http://musains.tumblr.com/) if you're interested.


End file.
